Dear Zanele Muholi, 

You can probably assume, the many reasons, I have been working through a fear of what it means to show up as my authentic self. An experience I imagine many Black and Brown people growing up in a society where the word “normal” is a “standard” that has been set by those who uphold a level of power. This power has created an illusion in the presumed identifiers that they are the deciders of who is “other” and who is not. Being Black, a woman, queer, and/or a person with disabilities pushes you to the far side of the spectrum of what “normal” is not. However, I know you know all of this and have somehow managed to show up and challenge the narratives around what being other is. In a world where everyone is different, what we choose to do with our given differences makes even the moments of our shared experiences all the more unique. 

By photographing queer people, such as in Faces and Phases, I see a willingness in you to allow flames of Love, to burn fiercely with a refusal to be distinguished. Confronted with the intense gaze from the many faces you have photographed, each demanding attention. I find myself captive of the captivated. I cannot avert my eyes, nor do I want to, as somehow queer representations are captured in stillness, preserved forever. From the other side of the glass, I stare into eyes that stare back at me, feeling more seen than ever before.

Through reflection, I have been able to understand, that I needed to see you embrace queer identity. Not just within your private life, but also in your artwork. Unknowingly to me, I also needed to see you darken your skin, in a way that was separate from the insulting minstrels that gave darkening your face a negative connotation. A device that was once used to push negative social narratives of ulterior definitions around being Black. I needed to see the way the black paint enhanced your skin and features even further. To heal the younger versions of me, that feared blackness so much so as a little girl I stood in the shade, out of reach of the sun’s rays. I was so afraid of getting darker that I refused to let the light shine on my skin. Simultaneously, I feared that others would notice how my skin didn’t glow in the dark. Seeing your photographs and self-portraits allowed me to see what for many years I could not.

Thank you for creating space for me to feel welcome. Allowing me to see that ideas around “fine arts” are changing. After years of being known as the unidentified Black figure placed in the shadows within a Manet, we have been named, Laure. By bringing yourself and those who have also been labeled as others to the forefront of your photographs, we are now named. We are now placed somewhere in forever. 

Thank you, 

A Young Queer Black Girl who is finding the many ways to dream.